


Burning

by ShadowSelene (Shadowdianne)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowdianne/pseuds/ShadowSelene
Summary: Okay but it would be really cute for a Cissamione prompt to be like, at a ball or something and Andy interrupts them before they kiss. Asked by anon back in tumblr
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Kudos: 44





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

> As always ever-present reminder that I might be a little bit of a brat when it comes to details… and far too invested in long sentences, lack of perfect edition if I happen to write this in the middle of the night as it is, and far too short actual dialogue. Apologies for everything and I do hope this is enjoyable.  
> Less of me, on with this :P

Lights illuminated the room, pools of flickering flame that climbed their way through the decorations that had been carefully hexed a few hours prior, so they maintained their shape and form while floating soundlessly above the chatting crowd below. Marble and wood splayed beyond the lights, its colors swallowing whatever little droplets of that very same light that absconded its way into Narcissa’s hair for everything that Hermione was concerned.

Unperturbed, or perhaps far too lost in the other witch’s silhouette, the brunette witch didn’t quite see her fellow colleagues as they laughed and talked around her, conversations inane, lacking most of the times, insipid, and far too work-related in others even if today’s ball had been called in the hopes, perhaps, of creating a divisive line between work and pleasure. After all, Imbolc was shining bright among the magic present in the air and the ones at the ballroom, the members of the Ministry that is, weren’t the only ones celebrating such a moment. Beyond the curtains and veils and walls so carefully jinxed so no muggle could hear them above in the grey-surfaced city, many other members of the Wizarding Community would be enjoying the festivity as well. And yet, Hermione had caught herself realizing, half-apologizingly, despite the boredom their conversations had for her that she would have been one of the many others who couldn’t quite separate themselves from their work-related company if it hadn’t been -that is- for the far too good dressed witch that had made her entrance just late enough for the alcohol to have been poured and refilled more than twice already.

She had hoped she would come, she had given her own invite herself after all; a cacophony of nerves and what-ifs stuck at the back of her throat as she had played with the envelope made out in parchment and pressed celandine and violets that had left minute granules she has promptly shaken off as Narcissa had risen her brows and tilted her head, all angles and shadows and eyes that shone as conjured ice.

“Are you sure of this?” She had asked then, within the confines of the apartment that had become theirs even if none of them dared to speak such truth out loud. Despite the reality of Narcissa still living at the Manor that had become rightfully hers after the Trials and the divorce and some other legal affairs that had become far too long to enumerate while trying to find the better way to explain that nothing would please her and burn her more than seeing her there, among others, next to her, distance close enough that maybe, just maybe, she could grab her fingers and squeeze them between hers.

Hermione had bitten into her bottom lip then, sheets around her, the chill of mid-January chasing the fine hairs at the back of her hair as she moved up on their bed, moving closer, farther from where she had fished out the letter from, a simple, sober “And plus one” written at the very top of the envelope on itself. The words laconic, mute of the colors Narcissa’s eyes kept on bringing as she scanned the parchment again and again, as if waiting for the letters to slid of the page, transformed into fog and glass. She had taken Narcissa’s empty hand with one of hers then, kissing the palm, curving her fingers along so the blonde witch would mimic her as she laid her chin against their conjoined hands.

“Only if you want.” She had replied then, serious, expectant, willing, needy, burning.

But, the brunette witch now thought as she maneuvered herself away from her colleagues, away from the walls, away from the fire and flames that framed the edges of a room that couldn’t contain the happiness at seeing Narcissa entering and searching for her, finding her and promptly doing the same as she was doing, wasn’t Imbolc meant to be fire? Didn’t she deserve to have the one she wanted at her side then and there? She emitted a small smile as she finally moved close enough for Narcissa to grasp both of her hands by her wrists, thumb running through her pulse points, as she appraised her, blonde and dark on her hair, glass, and jewels on her hair, black and fire and white on her silhouette having forgone her usual Slytherin colors for something more appropriate for the evening and reason of the party itself.

Hermione knew her stunning, knew her beautiful, gorgeous, divine, and with that in mind, she licked her lips and reminded herself, dazedly, that despite her will and want and accepted offer at accompanying her neither of them had truly talked about how much or how little would they be willing to show. So, sadly, she pressed her lips together, blushing, always blushing, and -still trapped by Narcissa’s hands, turned them palm up so she could feel the tipping dance of the blonde’s own heartbeat against the pads of her fingers. A staccato of nerves and -yet- resolution.

“Been some time since I was here.” The blonde mentioned, almost in passing, eyes glued to the walls, to Hermione if the brunette narrowed her eyes enough to see the quick pupil movement. Anything, everything, that would shield them both to the onlookers, the ones who were trying to be subtle, the ones who weren’t. “I like what they have done for today. You will need to tell me if you managed to get them to do the eternal flame spell you talked me about.”

Narcissa had been pardoned. In a fashion, after a trial that had been far too long and work that had needed to be done inside the blonde’s own mind once she had risen her head towards the Wizengamot and admitted her part, subscribing to where her faults had lied, admitting her will of changing, of not quite leaving everything behind but ready to try to. She had paid, obliging to what both others wanted of her and she herself had asked of her. And yet her presence, her memory, was still followed by the very same eyes that glanced and looked and judged Hermione’s own presence in the Ministry, even after all those years, even after showcasing time and time again that her place there hadn’t been nepotism but something earned, something good.

So she jutted out her chin and pretended not to see them, none of them, as she glanced up towards the fires; the colors changing ever so slowly from bright red to purple and mauve if one stared at them long enough.

“They finally went with a spell over Incendio so the flames remained cold longer.” She informed, contrite and Narcissa scoffed a little as she -sadly- dropped her hands, grasping a glass that had floated towards her in the attempt to get her to start drinking.

“Their miss.” She said, taking a sip, liquid splashing slowing, lazily, as she appraised Hermione with the promise of a shadow of a smile, eyes slow, weighing, smoldering.

Maybe she should just kiss her, no matter the murmurs and scolds and gasps and questions that would come later. Or maybe she could just, simply, ask her to leave the place, find another one, secluded, safe.

“I…”

Her train of thought was interrupted, however, when a profile appeared amongst the many others around them all, the instantaneous wave of panic not appearing as it had once done but yet making her tremble with the realization they were about to be interrupted by none other than Narcissa’s sister as Andromeda promptly abandoned her own conversation with some members of a department Hermione didn’t truly focus on, and strode towards them with the resolution of someone about to start an equally long conversation with them both.

“Your sister is here.” She said in the spare seconds they had, the flashing idea of convincing Narcissa to climb to her own office, beyond the hall, beyond the elevators, beyond the sleeping memorandums turning into ash.

While Narcissa baited looks, Andromeda was a very different beast altogether. She had been, after all, the _good_ sister as far as the general public was concerned. She wasn’t followed nor judged but was still as looked at as the others who have been there, on their own, during the war. She was invited to the usual feasts, however, either by ones or others wanting to get some edge out of the almost perfect living copy of Bellatrix Lestrange herself and so as she moved everyone deferred around her as her smile caught Narcissa’s eyes the second the blonde turned towards where Hermione’s gaze was lost, shoulders rising in surprise at the sight.

“I didn’t know you had been invited Cissy! I would have sent you an invite but I was already a plus one…”

“I was, kind of a last-minute thing, though, hence why I couldn’t find a moment for…”

They were warm to each other, the sadness that had peppered their conversations having been diluted some time ago. And so, Hermione couldn’t blame Andromeda for wanting a moment with her younger sister. Decided to move away, leave them so they could be as free as they could be among so many others, she stepped at her right, a passing caress on Narcissa’s forearm that could very well look intentional to others who were paying enough attention.

“Andy.” She said, all smiles and warm eyes but the other witch wasn’t having any of it and, grabbing her by the very same point her sister had had mere moments before, she spun Hermione until she was between them both, head tilted, mischievous.

“Oh no you don’t.” She said merrily. “You are going to stay here and listen as I ask my sister why she hasn’t kissed you yet. Noisy ones be dammed, Cissy, have you seen her?”

Oh, well. Or she could just question if she could ask for a non-verbal approach of disappearing without a trace.


End file.
